Tag Archives: love

So readers, your dear Funky went on a pretty darn amazing, life-altering, trip at the end of March. I found another local band to love, and I followed them all the way down to Santa Fe, New Mexico just to see them play in the infamous (in my crowd) Meow Wolf. Looking back at my own stories, I am very surprised to see that I have yet to discuss the band, Itchy-O….SHAME ON ME!!

Itchy-O is an experience. Whether you are trying to just listen to them, or looking them up online, or you are actually there, you will never be really ready for what you are about to encounter. The way that I describe them, is, “They’re a marching band on crack…and acid.” To put it another way, they are like a marching band on steroids, and their vibe is cerebral, to say the least. There are about forty members in the band, and every single one of them wears a mask–complete anonymity. (I happen to now know several members of the band–they have been unmasked–but I am not allowed to publicly mention their names, haha.) The main instruments are drums and computer-generation-manipulation of sounds. Most of the band members invade the crowd, their “instruments” being mobile–some carrying their drums like on-the-front backpacks, others with a “table” strapped to their chests to hold their laptops and giant amplifying speakers on their backs–or just being creepy wraith-esque figures dancing/ crawling/ disturbingly still tucked in a corner to startle you. The only exception to the rule of them all infiltrating the crowd are those with the BIG drums–they are usually on the stage or somewhere where they can be the central focus.

I have been to several Itchy-O concerts….you could say that I am something of a groupie, hahaha! And the show never gets old, honestly. My favorite part? When you suddenly stop being an individual and become part of the whole. It was rather startling the first time! I mean, if you have read any of my blogs, then you know that I am a dark, proud, daring individual; I like being able to stand out from the crowd. But an Itchy-O concert is different…

It really is hard to explain, but the best similarity I can think of is how a crowd feels during a ceremonial practice. I know, I know…there aren’t a lot of those in our mainstream world anymore, so look it up, haha. Check out the Maasai Adumu Ceremony (don’t forget that I work at a museum, hahaha!). Anyway, there comes a moment during an Itchy-O concert where the individual ceases to exist. You form one consciousness, move together as one–feel every soul and molecule of energy converge into one giant seething mass of feel-good unity. It’s breathtaking!

Although no mere words could ever be enough to truly capture the experience that is Itchy-O, lets move on to Meow Wolf…where again, no mere words could ever be enough to adequately describe that experience.

Meow Wolf is an “art-collective”, nestled in Santa Fe, New Mexico. According to Wikipedia, it was established in 2008 by a collection of artists who desired to provide their city with a unique art house and music venue. But I did not know any of this when I headed down there, so let me attempt to explain the experience in my own words, while still keeping the mystery alive enough that you all will have to venture down there yourselves, without any spoilers…

I will start at the beginning: I woke up the morning I was supposed to leave for my trip, to my brother panicking that he couldn’t get out of the driveway because of snow! What? I admit it, I was stressed TFO! Well not to mention that up until that point, I was dealing with my father’s health issues, I had gotten into that age-old trap of being annoyed and complaining about my job and therefore hating it, and “The One” (see https://funkylollipop.com/2016/08/11/can-i-read-my-book-please/) came back and left twice since November and this last breakup was over the trip to Meow Wolf–so yeah, you could say I was very close to a breakdown, haha! In any case, the panicked wake up call started the day off bad, and then an insensitive text from my brother’s boss to my brother, but recieved on my phone because his phone doesn’t work at our house, sent me over the edge! Basically, I responded rather harshly and then immediately apologized (in a mean way) but my brother’s boss must be an amazing person because he felt that I “seemed stressed”, so he bought me a giant bottle of wine and made my brother promise to make sure I had a great weekend. This, of course, made me bawl like a baby, lbvs! So from that moment on, I promised myself that I was going to do just that–have a great stress free weekend.

By the afternoon the snow had cleared up completely–yay Colorado! So, four people and a dog left Colorado around 10:00 Friday evening, in a nice little rental car, because all of us drive older cars that we do not trust to take out of state, haha! We headed south, (I left my stress and pain at the Colorado State line) and after a few–sometimes questionable–rest stops, we made it to our buddy’s hotel room at around 4:00 am Saturday morning, in Santa Fe, NM. We had a lovely two-bed room, and five people and a Scruffy to sleep in it. I got to share a bed with only one other person (who happened to be a handsome fellow) and the dog, so I was happy.

The next day we went to lunch at a vegan-friendly Mexican restaurant for our newly vegan boy (it was yummy, haha, even though I still had meat.) Then half of us went to peruse the random shops, while the boys and the dog went to sniff out that skate park! (I found an awesome shop called “Mira’s” but it might as well have been named “Rachel’s” it was so perfect.) Around five, we met back at the hotel to greet the three new-comers who would bring our hotel-room occupants total up to eight people and a dog!! Talk about a packed house! Thankfully, these three brought an air mattress for them to share, hahaha!

The best part was that our hotel was within walking distance of Meow Wolf, so I dug into that gifted bottle of wine, before we headed down. We showed up a little bit early, so we could traverse the venue…but little did we know, we could have come as soon as they opened, and still would not have enough time to catch it all.

Built in an old bowling ally, Meow Wolf is vast and full of mystery. Around every corner, in every nook and cranny, through every hidden fireplace and cupboard under the stairs, a new wonder waits to be discovered. Even the bathrooms were a place of fantasy and visual excitement. Several worlds merge into one under the high warehouse-esque ceilings, and stepping over the threshold imbibes in you the sheer joy and innocence of a child on a Wonderland adventure.

Then you add Itchy-O, and you suddenly have a heady mix of mystique and euphoria.

At one point, one of our buddies had a bit too much fun, and we lost him. What could have been a major bummer that we were missing some of the show, ended up being a blessing in disguise, since the hidden recesses of Meow Wolf were abandoned for the Itchy-O show in the center. We discovered rooms that we had missed in our quick inspection before the show. My favorite room, of course, was the Eyeball Room, in which singular orbs of every size and description graced the surface of the rounded cave-like room. But that wasn’t all to see….

The amazing night ended, and we all trooped back to the hotel, and we found our lost friend soon thereafter, so everything was good. After a quick dip in the pool with some fellow Colorado pals and customers at the same hotel, we all went to bed. Eight people and a Scruff, two beds and an air mattress–one big happy family.

After a scattered morning, the eight of us (and a Scruff), left in our respective vehicles, to head home. We stopped for a quick bite at an Indian vegan restaurant (yes, readers, I ate a meal without meat…), then got back on I-25 for the long trip home. This time, I was the one who drove first (I did drive about an hour in the wee hours of Saturday morn), because my car-mates had a little bit more fun than I did, haha, so they all fell asleep, leaving me to enjoy the drive by myself. Which I certainly did, for it had been a very long time since I’d had that much time to think all to myself. Deciding I was happy driving, I drove the whole eight hours, while they mostly slept.

I had several epiphanies on that drive. Again, if you have read any of my blogs, then you know that I am very capable of dark, painful thoughts. I’ve seen some things in my lifetime that have left me sad and fairly broken. But I have also always said, “Everything happens for a reason.” Well, either I believe that theory, or I don’t. If I do–and for sanity’s sake I think I better–then every single bad experience was meant to be, meant for me. Lessons learned, life taught….every death, every bad relationship….was meant for me to make me who I am.

For example, all of the breakups with The One–meant to be. I had buried my heart in anger, after my mom died. He was the one who helped me find it again. (“It does exist!”) I didn’t know how much I actually wasn’t feeling. I mean, I know I love my friends, and I enjoy all the good times that we have–but I wasn’t actually feeling it. It was like a facade, window dressing on an abandoned building. And what would it take to break through my healthy coating of anger? Love and pain, of course! I cannot fault him for anything though. Once I left the pain on the state border, all I was left with is love, and that is what I brought back with me from Santa Fe. Love–love that actually hurts with it’s severity and sincerity–for everyone and everything. Even my anger at “the powers that be” has left me. It also made me realize how scared I actually was. I have been on a lifelong search for love, but it scares the heck out of me, and it always has. For to love, you become vulnerable to that person–the absence of their love can hurt you. Death is an old family friend, and he comes often for a visit. Because this is what I know, my impatience to start living the “happily ever after, ” is expounded! So I have the impatience, but I am terrified of loving someone, so I don’t actually tell them, but then I have ridiculous expectations in which they must live up to. *Sigh* I had no idea I was so confusing, lbvs!

The moral of the story is….sometimes adventures are weird from the get go. Itchy-O = Weird, Meow Wolf = Weird. Itchy-0 + Meow Wolf = Best Weirdness of Your Life!! And sometimes beauty is born out of that weirdness…life-altering beauty.

I had such an amazing trip, and I strongly suggest visiting Meow Wolf and witnessing Itchy-O live. It will be something you cannot forget.

Like this:

(Hahaha, Philosophy Sunday on a Thursday! Thought I’d shake it up a bit!)

I love reading. I always have. My mom taught me how to read before I went to kindergarten; before I was five years old. She encouraged this passion, and I indulged in it to an almost ridiculous degree. In fact, if and when I did get in trouble, my mother threatened to take away my books, hahaha. That was the trigger, the threat, that I would need to get myself in line.

I have tread the literary waters a bit, but the genre my attention gravitates toward the most is the fantasy/horror/paranormal romance bit (are you surprised?). Dragons, unicorns, fairies, ghosts, vampires, and werewolves–these are the creatures I desire in “my world”–the world in which my imagination thrives. Magic and mayhem, death and eternal life, frightening situations and battles to the death. A world where true love–for forever love–exists, flourishes, and never dies–even if they have to battle through hell itself to save it.

Hmmmm….I wonder why I have such high expectations for my love life….

I love reading. I love books. I love traversing the various paths of the fictional wonderland illustrated in the pages. I escape into my books. I fall in love with the characters, and crave to know the ending of their story. I love how books highlight the necessary information–how the good authors will only tell you something if it is important. Irrelevant information is not included, unless it is simply a tool to take you in the wrong direction to give you a surprise ending. I love that. I love the foreshadowing. I love getting little snippets of one’s past, bestowed like gifts so you may understand the character a little more; fall in love (or hate, for that matter) just a little bit more.

I love relating to the characters. I am currently reading the final book in the White Rabbit Chronicles by Gena Showalter. In the first three books, Alice in Zombieland, Through the Zombie Glass, and Queen of Zombie Hearts, Ali Bell was the star. Written in first person, you literally saw the world through Ali’s point of view. I thought she and I were two peas in a pod….until I started reading the fourth book, A Mad Zombie Party. In this book, the viewpoint changes, and multiplies. Now we are seeing the world through Frosty and Milla’s eyes. Thought to be secondary characters–I mean, Frosty is Ali’s boyfriend’s best friend and her best friend’s boyfriend, and Milla is the rival “gang” leader’s little sister–a gang I wasn’t even aware of really, until the third book–they suddenly take center stage, and I’ll be damned if I don’t relate to those two even more than I did with Ali Bell.

See, with Ali, she had lost her entire family in an accident that she felt was all her fault. Blaming yourself for a loved one’s demise–whether it be literal death, or something just as life-altering–is a gig I have been playing for a long time. I blame myself for my mother’s death, my grandmother’s death, my brother’s addictions, my father’s health… Whether or not any of it is valid is beside the point. That is the way that I feel and it is a heavy burden to carry. So I connected with Ali in that sense. Also, at the time I began this series (about two months ago), I was embarking on a new love affair, and the connection between Ali and violet-eyed Cole seemed to be on par with mine. (I’m sure that this didn’t help during the inevitable end of my love affair. Cole and Ali were “meant to be” in their world. Even when they broke up and eventually got back together (ok, Cole never let her go, and again, awesome books let you know why he did what he did)…part of me is still waiting for the reconciliation in my life, and I find that expectation painful.)

Cut! Bring in the next feature, and you have Milla and Frosty. Milla seriously messed up in the third book. In fact, Queen of the Zombie Hearts, ends with a strong feeling of hatred towards little Miss Milla! And Frosty, a volatile character to begin with, has gone off the deep end by succumbing to his shattered heart. I connect with both of them. Frosty doesn’t want to cheer up, because to him that would be doing the memory of his loss a disservice. To actually live without that person is a gross injustice. It has taken me a long time to realize that that is what I still do with my mother. I will forever be the sad little girl who watched her mother die, if I cannot find the desire to live without her. Truly live. As far as Milla goes, she committed to the horrific plan that was literally the cause of Frosty’s pain, for an excellent reason–in an effort to protect her brother. Of course this resonates with me, since my brother is my “air”–I need him in my life! I’d do anything for him.

Another reason I identify with Milla–guys tend to hit it and quit it. No one ever stays. And although Milla has a decently strong concept of her self-worth–she knows she’s pretty dang awesome, especially with zombie slaying–her self-image is tarnished by these boys’ rejection. Yup…I get that. Can you really be that awesome if people are willing to leave you? It makes you focus on your faults and hold yourself accountable for every wrong deed you have ever committed. (So bad if you’re the type of person who takes the blame for everything!) See, even the universe thinks you deserve nothing but loneliness; punishment for your crimes against humanity!

Which, in my usual roundabout way, brings me to my point. Can I read my story, please? Funky’s Story, The Story of Rachel Campbell? Can I know the important clues, the relevant incidents, that will lead me to my destiny? Which signs am I supposed to follow? What can I do to get what I want, and is what I want actually what I need? What I deserve? Do I not deserve it? What is my life path?

I have been avoiding blogging. First, because I was wrapped up in my new love affair; then because of the violent end of that love affair. I knew I would write about it, and I am, of course, but hopefully I do it in such a way that it doesn’t leave me more broken.

See, with this one, the signs were there. Ok, ok, I can find the signs anywhere, let’s be honest. I can fall in love with someone’s potential loooong before they deserve it, and long before I will even admit to myself that I am in love. If you have read any of my blogs before, then you have a basic idea about “the ex”, “the one who hurt me the most”, “the one who hurt me first”, and the one who is just plain mean. Now there is the recent one, the legend, that I am just having the hardest time getting over.

So earlier this year, as some of you know, I was fed up with the reconciliation with both the mean one and the one who hurt me first. I was also fed up with my self-imposed celibacy, so when I received my invitation for a wedding in another state, I decided then and there that I would be getting some tail. Little did I know it would be the best man, and that I would actually find out he’s amazing.

We meshed right away. Our conversations were good, and we seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. We had similar beliefs, similar experiences, and similar “life goals.” Granted, those goals weren’t the healthiest of ambitions, but we were on the same page nonetheless. I’m not sure what he thought about me, but I just thought he was one of the sexiest men I had ever seen in real life. (I should have realized then that I was already trying to fall.) I had gone into the situation thinking it was a one-time affair (both times that vacation, I thought it was a one-time thing…hahaha), but lo and behold, we actually lived in the same state. In fact, we lived 16 miles away from each other.

Looking at this from an avid reader’s perspective, (and an incurable hopeless romance enthusiast) this was the first really big sign. How do I travel to another state, to find a guy that actually lives near me? And even there, guests at the wedding asked us if we were together, because we “vibed” so well. (I think it was the fact that my hair matched his hat, hahaha!) Maybe if we stayed out there, we could have lasted…because all we did was come back home to the demons we so forcibly left behind…

I didn’t expect him to call when he got back, but you can bet I was waiting with bated breath, hoping that he did. Well, he did. The connections continued. In the stories I read, introducing someone to your friends is a pretty major thing. Well that was the first thing he did, and it was an afternoon of “your girlfriend” jokes, and me being awkward and shy around his people. Then the next call came, and the next. Turns out we also have similar political views, and we have some of the same darkness running through our veins. We could hang.

Then came the BIG signs–the ones that I consciously look for/ recognize: His hometown state is the same one that my uncle was from–the only man my aunt ever loved. Also the state that my BFF is currently residing and where she met her hubby. (You can bet that I imagined us traveling up there together to visit both of our families.) His initials are the same as the actress who plays my all time favorite television star. He is into motorcycles. We both have a degree in video production from the Art Institute, and we both are doing nothing with it. We both also have the same pipe-dream for what we would like to do with that degree. Music, movies…we clicked. He also had the sense to hypothetically worry about his parents possibly dying–something I encourage since I know first hand that it can and will happen, and it sucks. Best to mind those relationships while you can.

And we talked about the big stuff too. Like marriage and children. I’m not sure how long it has been since I have touched on that subject with you all, but I recently have come to the conclusion that I desire neither. My world lost four children this year–two did not have the chance to really grow even inside the womb, but it still hurts. And the other two…one was a three-year-old who drowned, and the other was a month old and passed from SIDS. I had only met one of these kids once, the three-year-old; but their parents are important enough to me that every single one of these deaths hit me like a pile of bricks. If I can’t handle my friend losing their child, then how can I possibly attempt to bring my own into the world? Point being, I won’t. Mr. Legend had the same viewpoint, essentially. No marriage, no kids. I mean, that right there was the real kicker for me, because how are you supposed to tell a man that you desire neither his name nor his seed?

But something went wrong. Somewhere we lost it. But here I was thinking, subconsciously mostly–it really hit me when he broke it off–that I had found the one. Not even two months together, and I have to admit that I honestly had that thought. And the end was violent (not physically, but emotionally. It was meant to wound, to sever) and mean. Not as mean as it could have been, but I was so confused by the ending to begin with, it crushed me. I was seriously angry too.

But it has been a whole month without him. If he missed me, he would contact me, right? Granted, I miss him and I have behaved myself admirably! (Ok, I did send the last three messages, all unanswered. Two at the end of our fight, and one on the day of the only date he ever planned for us, and took away. I couldn’t help it then. I can now, because even my pathetic-ness has limits.) But I can’t stop missing him…

And this is where the desire to read my own book comes in. I want to know what I did wrong. I want to know if I misread the signs. Because this one felt different. Oh, I know, “they always feel different!” I’m not the only woman/man/human to have ever felt like this one is different, that this breakup is wrong…but it just feels sooooo wrong! I know I am also obsessed with wondering why. I have been asking the universe for years why this world works the way that it does. Why people suck so much. Why do I have the life that I do? But I also know that, because I don’t get the answers I crave, I blame the universe–fate–for hating on me! I feel like Perseus in The Clash of the Titans, sometimes. The whole, “God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle,” makes me want to scream, “I am not Superman!!” However, I am beginning to realize that this is a problem as well…how can fate reward me if I don’t have faith in its plan? If I don’t trust it not to screw me over?

So, is it me? Was it my own self-fulfilling prophesy that started the end? Was it him? Did I miss the red flags? Am I ignoring them? Focusing on the good? Yes and no. My scale of bad differs from most, and do really try to focus on the good. Was it the fact that I can’t not find myself attracted to an addict of some flavor? (Again with the signs–and this one Lollipop disagrees with wholeheartedly–I feel like my one is an addict, because that would explain why I have soooo much experience with addicts. Lollipop feels that I don’t have lasting relationships because I only date addicts. But I get addicts, despite my lack of qualifying addictions.) Am I still too hurt from my mom’s passing? How can I expect someone to feel like they can’t live without me, if I want to live without me?

Can I just read the test, so I know what lessons I should be learning? Skip to the ending and just scan it so I know what to look out for? Or can I scan his book so I know how he really felt?

Was it fated to end as such?

Ugh…needless to say, this past month has been rather hard on this old heart. (I turn 32 real soon!!) However, I will say that the entire month and a half long relationship was a good thing. A necessary thing to happen. It has stirred up some stuff in this noggin, and maybe ripped a band-aid off of my heart–I had promised myself that I wouldn’t feel that kind of loss again, after my mom died. It seriously surprised me that I grieved for Legend. It is actually nice to know that I can feel that way for someone who is not my mother, lbvs. It is nice to know that I am capable of falling in love with someone who didn’t know my mother at all. Or even know me when I had my mother.

Like this:

If you are a follower of my blogs, then you will know that I have recently fallen in love with my small town again. I have had a love/hate relationship with my town for the entirety of the almost 25 years that I have lived here. Recently, I have discovered that I appreciate the quiet, the open space, the abundance of wildlife, and, in my case, the virtually drama-free state of my little cultisac. I mean, it is already well-known that Colorado is one of the coolest states ever, (that is why so many are flocking here), but there is so much more to the red-state than the majestic Rocky Mountains, our Superbowl 50 Champions: The Broncos, and legalized marijuana! Sometimes it may seem to be hard to find, but nestled away in little pockets all over the state, are these tight-knit small-towners who have known each other for most of their lives and still tend to cluster, still think of each other as family–The Elizabethians!!

Now I am absolutely sure that my small town isn’t the only group of people who still claim their hometown friends, still live with their hometown friends, and who only seem to party with their hometown friends–no matter what city they are in, or whether they intentionally ran that far away just to escape the hometown friends! Despite everything, Elizabethians still tend to travel in packs. We gravitate towards each other, and we cannot seem to escape nor forget. There may be different groups scattered here and there, but when we gather, we GATHER!! And I love it.

Me “loving it,” wasn’t always so. It was another of those love/hate aspects of being an Elizabethian. But, like several other characteristics that I had once loathed about my town, I have very recently come to absolutely adore this quality. How? Where? At one of the most unlikeliest–or at least surprising–of places: A fellow Elizabethian’s funeral.

Exactly one month after I passed the 6-year anniversary of my mother’s death, the Elizabethian community suffered another loss–Kyle. (I will not include his full name, nor his picture, out of respect for the family’s privacy.)

Kyle was honestly the most genuinely joyous people that I had ever met. Witty, outgoing, and a bright engaging goofy smile that you just couldn’t help but return. He was a jokester, and he had a knack for making people laugh despite their best intentions. His own laugh was hilarious all on it’s own–a pure chortle that just invited returned giggles. Even when he was getting into trouble, he’d manage to make the authority figure laugh, or smile, or at the very least, take away their fire so as to make them slightly guilty instead, that they have to punish such a likable guy. In fact, the former in-school-suspension-supervisor was the pastor for his funeral, and there was nothing but love from his lips. Yes, pastors are supposed to only spout love, but knowing this man personally, I could tell that he genuinely liked Kyle. But who didn’t? Kyle was golden. A truly beautiful soul. Obviously not perfect, but just one smile or stupid joke, and he could melt the coldest heart, ease the most bitter pain.

The turn-out was utterly amazing for this guy! It was a sizable church, and we had it packed! A lot of people had to stand. A lot of tears. A lot of familiar faces. But what really surprised me was the generational span of Kyle’s mourners.

Three years separated Kyle and I in age, maybe four in grade, but I was not the oldest of his high-school acquaintances, and Kyle’s age group definitely was not the youngest. If I had to venture a guess, I would say at least twelve years of Elizabethian graduates attended! I mean, I am Class of ’02, and I recognized some of my brother’s class, which is Class of ’10, and even younger. How can a person be loved by that vast of an expanse of ages? Because he was Kyle. And because we are Elizabethians. And this particular faction of alumni, is one of the largest and close-knit. I cannot even begin to comprehend how many hugs I gave and received yesterday. How many, “Oh my gawd! How have you been?” ‘s that I heard. It was beautiful. And I know that there were a few bad feelings for particulars–grudges–that have endured throughout the years for a few of this giant group of people, but it did not matter. None of that mattered, because of Kyle. At least, that is what I think. We were all united in the loss of Kyle, and we were united in remembering Kyle for the type of person he was.

I’ll admit, I was not as close to Kyle as most of the people there (I was on the outskirts of the cool kids until my brother initiated me once he became a cool kid, hahaha!). Kyle and I rode the same bus. However, what got him a permanent place in my heart, was that he never forgot me and never turned on me. Whenever I saw him, I was rewarded with his bright goofy smile, and an embrace that made me feel like I was loved and cherished. Maybe he really did love and cherish me–or maybe he was just that awesome, that he made everyone feel loved and cherished. Which in turn, made people love and cherish him. Never before have I seen such an amicable anything (least of all service), with that diverse of a crowd. Yeah, we all know each other, but still…

So Kyle, you have once again performed an act of beauty–you made me love being able to call myself a part of this particular crowd of Elizabethians. We probably are one of the craziest groups–wild and weird and down for whatever. Thankfully, by putting ourselves in the situations that we have, we are even more connected because we have seen each other at our very worst, and we still have love. Thank you Kyle. You will be sorely missed by so many hearts. To truly know you, was to love you. Just can’t help it.

I have never been so relieved to have a year come to an end! For the most part it was a good year but the end was one of the roughest times of my life. The whole month of December was kind of awful for a myriad of reasons but the toughest moment came the day after Christmas when our good, family friend Pat passed away.

My family moved in with Pat who was around fifty at the time, when I was a little girl. We had just moved back from California and had no money, no prospects and no where to live. Pat was at that moment, and for the rest of his life, our guardian angel. He was unfailing kind and generous, sweet and playful. He was the best of friends and the best of people. He lived with my family for the rest of his life and died in his own bed at my parents house.

He was what some might consider an unremarkable man who lived a remarkable life, filled with tragedy and loss and ultimately redemption and love.

The thing that was so very remarkable about Pat once you got to know him was how happy he was with so little. In our modern view, the gifts that life gave him were so pitifully few, he was never in love (the one date he ever went on ended with getting kicked out of his house for dating) he never had children or a high powered career, he wasn’t famous, he didn’t change the world. And yet in all the time I knew him he never shed a tear (he said he had cried all his tears when his mother died), he never complained about the life he was given, he never forgot to say thank you for even the smallest gesture of thoughtfulness.

I’m not really sure if understanding the life he lived makes his unfailing contentment more or less amazing. He lost his mother at age seven and was sent to an orphanage with his brother. A couple of years later he lost his father as well. He continued in the orphanage until he was adopted by some cousins but even that was shortlived and he time and again ended up homeless on the streets of Detroit. He though about becoming a priest but was disillusioned by the hypocrisy he witnessed while working around the order. He went into the army and was one day away from shipping out to Vietnam when he contracted double pneumonia and was eventually given an honorable disability discharge. He had a mental breakdown a few years after he left the army and was diagnosed with schizophrenia and spent some time in an institution. He moved to Colorado and ended up buying a house for his beloved poodle Blackie. That was the only reason that he bought the house because he wanted his dog to have a home and a yard and so he provided them. Some time later he started going to the church my father worked for and that was how we met him. When we moved back from California, homeless and desperate, we found out that his dog had died and he was terribly lonely and heartsick over his dog’s passing. The pastor of the church thought it might be a blessing for him to have some companionship and it was undoubtedly a blessing for us as well. From that day on he was a part of our family.

Time and again life gave him obstacles and problems that he saw for what they really were, gifts. The pneumonia that wrecked his lungs and was the foundation for a life time of lung problems wasn’t a curse it was the blessing that saved him from the horrors of war. The death of his beloved pet was the reason our family came to stay and he finally got the love and friendship and the home that he had never had. It didn’t make him bitter that life had been so hard because he knew the worst that could happen, he’d lived through it, and the qualities of character and personality that caused him again and again to seek a life of service and a purpose in helping others, helped him to remain happy and positive and unfailingly grateful.

There have been so many lessons I’ve learned from Pat in our life together but his last lesson and gift to me (and one that I needed more than ever as I dealt with the loss of him) was that this too shall pass. Pat lived a life blighted by pain and suffering for the first two thirds of his time on earth but the last third, though it maybe didn’t make up for or remove those lost years, did give him something he’d always wanted, a home, a family and unconditional love. I imagine it would be all but impossible for me to experience the amount of loss and devastation in my life that Pat suffered but even if it did, the memory of how he dealt with that loss and the knowledge that it did eventually get better will stay with me through anything.

Like this:

Yes, “Let It Go.” Not just an overplayed song from one of the most popular Disney Movies ever, but also a rather clever turn a phrase that has been apropos for many an occasion.

Anna and Elsa at our Frozen Winter Ball

However–even though I just helped Lollipop put on her “Frozen Winter Ball” barely a week ago–I am not talking about that particular interpretation. I’m not talking about awesome ice powers, although it would be cool! I am not talking about letting go of something that you have been hiding and suppressing for far too many years, and raining it down on people with fairly tragic results. If I were to equate my “ness” with Elsa’s powers, then yeah….tragic would just about cover it.

No, in this case, I am talking about simply letting it go. Stop trying to keep a lid on it, stamping it down and burying it–only to have something trigger it and have it flung at unintended victims who usually only have a very small part in that original hurt.

I am an angry person. I am a grudge holder. I am so full of hurt, pain, and anguish at the injustice of what we call existence, that it still surprises me when someone accuses me of being “such a nice person.” If you have read any of my previous blog posts, then you have an inkling as to why this is so. But even I can admit that my biggest problem is love–love lost, unrequited love, the death of a loved one, not receiving as much as I give…yup.

I am also a Leo, a lion. One of the biggest things a Leo has in common with their real-life counterpart? Pride. Of course, I wish it was like the animal kingdom, and I just got to love and protect my family and homies while I laze about in a field all day…but no. Leo’s are loyal and protective, but they are also vain and sensitive. When someone hurts my feelings, they hurt my pride–in my old age, my vanity is not as secure as it used to be. Instinctively, I want to either rage at them or never speak to them again, until they allow me to rage at them and I am 100% sure they not only understand my reasoning, but they fully admit to being in the wrong. The whole, “I’m right, you’re wrong!” mentality.

However, that is what this entire “Dissecting Understanding” section is about…why there are so many misunderstandings, and why we should let it go even though we may be so sure that we are right. We are all different. We are all going through our own tragedy. We all perceive the world through different eyes, and therefore we will never honestly be on the same page. It shouldn’t be a cause for alarm, it should be celebrated. My mama always liked that saying about how boring it would be if we were all the same. I mean, what would the internet be with debate and ridicule (haha, I wish we could live without debate and ridicule!) The point is though, that we are all different, unique, beautiful, and right in our own way–and the world would be frighteningly dull if it were otherwise.

2015 has been a year of learning for me. A year of forgiveness. It started with forgiving “the one who hurt me the most.” No, he did not let me say all that I wanted to say, nor let me rage at him until he admitted that I was right and he was wrong. Nope. It just so happened that I got into an argument with his brother, and his response to my raging was such that it made me re-question everything. He cracked a joke about my rage–long enough after so as not to anger me further, haha–by showing me a meme of a giant ream of paper with a title that said something like: “What’s wrong, Part I…” Haha! Yes, my 47-part angry text message had no affect on him whatsoever. He actually had the audacity to say, “I didn’t read it. I’m not that guy…” Now for some of my friends, that response classified him as the worst kind of person, hahaha. But for me, it triggered a kind of acceptance.

He really is “not that guy.” He isn’t wired that way, and neither is his brother. There was no possible way that I would ever fully get my feelings across to them. And, seeing as I know their father, it’s not going to change. So it came down to, did I want these two out of my life? No, I didn’t. I mean, they cannot really get out anyway–we have too much history. Like they have tattoos for my mother, type of history. Now I could ignore them and hate on them whenever they came around, but that didn’t make sense either. Turns out, when I let the anger and the hurt go, I supremely enjoy their company. I love them, and we are a weird sort of family that I don’t want to lose…

Since then, several old hurts have suddenly reappeared in my life. It has really been a will tester. I mean, I said I’d let it go for “family,” but what about these guys? Are they “family,” friends, or just persons of interest at one point in my life? Do I want to forgive them? Well, that question I answered with a, “Yes!” But the next question would be, do I want them to stay in my life? The answer to this question differed between all of them.

One, I accept that he is the way that he is–a critical, judgmental, a-hole who has always seen the glass half-full and that the person who poured it is obviously an idiot. That being said, I have faith that he could change his perspective and go on to have a very happy life, if he chose to do so. But we will never move beyond this level of friendship (which is pretty bare minimum) because he does do more harm than good in my own life. I want him to have a better life, but I cannot change his life for him. However, I forgive him, and he no longer has that power over me. He also does not have the power to guilt trip me into doing what he wants. Being the giant push-over that I am, I have decided the best approach to reigning that quality in, is to ask myself, “Will I allow this person to guilt trip me? Do they deserve it?” It has been working so far…

Two, I forgave her, a couple of times, hahaha!! This particular friend is a lot to handle; but I think that her and I can work it out. She is an energetic ball of pure sunshine (until the storm comes) that will make it her life’s mission to make sure you are out there having a good time. How can you not want someone like that in your life?

Three, I forgave, but he is not in my life.

Four…well that is the hardest one. And probably the most important one. He is the first of my major grudges….if I forgive him, all of the other grudges will be forced to fall apart. There would no longer be a “What’s Wrong Part I…” The flipside to that coin is, if I forgive him, I could love him, which of course scares the hell out of me! Four is still recent, still confusing, still secret, but is probably teaching me the most.

See, that is the thing about grudges and resentment–there is already a layer of emotional debris that is compounded upon with every new heartbreak. Anything even similar to the original is added to the pile, and suddenly you are seeing patterns everywhere. “All men/women are the same.” <—is probably a better reaction than mine—->”This is your fate. You don’t deserve more.” Either way, it is a perfect set-up for failure. Like most self-fulfilling prophecies, stuff usually turns out the way you intend for it to. And I mean that in the deep metaphysical sense, not the lies we tell the front of the brain to keep our heart from speaking it’s piece.

I am always on edge, waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next person to screw me over–probably in the exact same way that they, or someone like them, has done before. Well, I’m over it.

My New Year’s Resolution is to “Let It Go.” Let go of the past. Let go of the pain, the hurts, the loss, the arrogance, the anger, and most especially the fear. Fear holds me back a lot. Fear of rejection, death (of others, not my own), unknown, fear of looking like an idiot. But the fear is there because of my past and because I am holding onto it. This cycle has to break at some point. So, 2016–> 16=1+6=7, the faith and truth seeker. Sounds like a great year to come to terms!!!

Now I know that I am not the only woman to ever ask this question…”What’s wrong with me?” There are different connotations to that question, different inflections, different interpretations and ways to answer it. Like, “What’s wrong with me, I am acting like a total loon!” I ask that question at least once a month, hahaha! But there seems to come a time in many a person’s life, when unrequited love begs the question, “What’s wrong with me?”

I, myself, have asked this question many a time throughout my thirty-one years of life. I have been obsessed with love for as long as I can remember–which is surprisingly pretty far back! But I have yet to really accomplish it. There were so many boys in school–I’d case out every class to find the “hott one”–that I would crush on so extremely hard, but not one ever asked me out. One in particular, I met in eighth grade. Bleach blonde hair chopped into that ridiculous bowl cut that was so popular at the end of the nineties, bright blue eyes, and even a chiseled-esque jaw at his young age. I even liked his name. The best last name ever, and there are quite a few notebooks covered with my practice signature for when I became his wife. Hahahaha! Oh, to be a young lady in the nineties! With The Backstreet Boys and ‘N SYNC singing sweet incomparable love ballads in our ears! Epic love affairs coalescing on the big screen–couples with seemingly insurmountable odds coming together in the end (Save the Last Dance, She’s All That, 10 Things I Hate About You….). So even though this boy and I came from the “opposite sides of the track,” I was so in love with him, and was sure, without a doubt, that one day we would be together. But Middle School transitioned into high school, and that boy transitioned into the stinky kid who DGAF about school or anyone in it. And still I did not rank on his love meter. Although we became very good friends, I would watch him fall for stupid girl after stupid girl, even going so far as to be suicidal after one that I just thought sucked beyond mentioning (probably just major jealousy there, hahaha). I watched him get his heart broken again and again, while I just waited in the wings, his ever-ready lapdog to lick his wounds. Gah, that was awful. And it took me almost 15 years and the death of my mother, to get over that fool, and my idiotic vision of us two living so happily ever after…

What was wrong with me, though? I hate to say it, but I wonder if it was because I was short and fat. In fact, when I met his mother, I was sure of it, since we looked a lot alike–he just didn’t want to be with his mom. He did not have a Freud-worthy complex, hahaha. (Let me just say right now that I loved his mother very, very much. She was a second mama, and in the end I even wondered if I actually just loved her, and he was my way of getting her as a mom-in-law. RIP M.N.L. Love you lots…) However, it could also be that I stalked him like no other, was shameless in my affection and profession of love, and was pretty much the girl that they talk about in How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days!! But my fear, my deep dark rarely expressed fear, is that it is, in fact, because I am fat.

See, I have been a “big girl” since around five years old, my mother said. As soon as I started school, my mom’s-mom’s genes started to make themselves known. This has been something that has rarely caused me worry in my lifetime. In fact, I would say at times I have been studiously unaware of the fact, as I attempted to wear the exact same clothes as my desperately thin best friend. I remember, after overhearing an opinion on the state of my weight, I asked my BFF, “Do you think I’m fat?” And when she had the nerve to answer honestly, “Well….yeah….kinda…” I flew off the handle at her. It was a pretty big fight for us. I berated her for an honesty that I had chosen not to see about myself. Weird.

So besides being big, I was, and am, also very smart, but it was, and is, all natural. As soon as I started school, I was way too into being cool and popular to ever put any effort into learning, hahaha! But I would get my A’s & B’s without effort–maybe some brown-nosing–so why would I bother to try. To the aggravation of most of my favorite teacher’s, I chose not to try, just to be. I was an excellent reader, but you would be hard pressed to find anything not horror-related nor horror-adjacent, capturing my attention. And I am still that way! Poor Lollipop has given me three whole books to read, non-fiction, and I have yet to complete a single one. While I have given her more than 20 Anita Blake Novels, by Laurell K Hamilton, and several Dean Koontz, and she has read all of them. I really cannot explain my extreme aversion, but it is almost a physical reaction, an intestinal loathing, that I possess towards literature outside the realm of my preferences. (However I am making a supreme effort to finish Eat, Pray, Love for Lollipop’s sake! At Chapter 3, I am at least enjoying Elizabeth Gilbert’s voice.) I have never been one for self-help, spiritual journeys, anything of the like. Which is rather unfortunate, considering all of the loss I have experienced…it may be nice to read another’s journey through all the stages of grief, but, “I just can’t do it, Captain! I just don’t have the power!” (Star Trek)

So, this smart, short, fat, little girl graduated high school at 17, a semester early (would have been a year, but my school district does not offer graduation that early), top of my class, second in the school. I cannot be too proud of that accomplishment, however, seeing as I graduated from an alternative high school, with a graduating class of twelve, and a total of about fifty kiddos in the entire school, haha! (Why did I go to alternative school? First of all, my BFF was there. Second of all, RUMORS!! Rumors suck…and those particular rumors greatly impacted my love life as well). I had a handful of “relationships” under my belt–the longest official one being a month, the longest unofficial-we’re-going-to-do-everything-but-make-it-official one lasting over a year. A whole year begging a boy to admit that he sees you in the dark recesses of a lonely vehicle, and he likes what you do, so please admit to your friends that you like me “that way”…..yeah, that boy broke my heart and made me feel like dirt!

And that “relationship” led me screaming into the very arms of the last person on earth that anyone had ever thought I’d end up in. A marriage proposal on my eighteenth birthday in the lovely Motel 6….five years later only turmoil and more heartache. In fact, that person was so bad, that I have discounted that entire bracket of people as lover possibilities. My one and only “real relationship” ended as a joke, a ginormous mistake, and left me feeling an unbelievable amount of guilt. It’s probably the reason that I became so devoted to my family once I moved back home. Especially to my brother–I had basically ignored him for the last five, as per my fiance’s wishes–so I had to do everything in my power to make it up to him. This led to several bad decisions, but in the end, it led to my brother being one of my best friends, and his best friends becoming my little brothers too.

And therein lies another trap that I have created for myself. Although I call them my brothers, the part of me that is obsessed with love sees them as potential mates. Now that they are all grown up, I cannot help but notice how beautiful I honestly think they are. With a few exceptions, my brother’s entire group is worthy, in my opinion, of the love that I fantasize giving. The “perfect wife” scenario, that involves dinner always being on the table, massages after a hard day’s work, and plenty of praise to ensure that he knows no one else could ever take his place. But these are bad thoughts. Bad bad thoughts to be having about my brother’s friends….right?

My boys do help perpetuate my bad thoughts, however, by frequently assuring me that they, “would be with (me), but they’re not good enough for (me).” Apparently, I deserve a whole helluva lot, because I would do darn near anything to get one of them to love me like that. I 100% believe that they are all stellar individuals worthy of true love….hmmm true love…what in the world does that mean?? Either way, I keep getting myself stuck in a position where I want to do anything to convince the one that I want, to want me back. And the self-conscious, low self-image, depressed raggedy girl that I had successfully repressed for twenty-five years (I did not fully realize her existence until my mother died), rears her ugly head to holler, “If you were skinny, they all would be clambering all over each other to get to you…” Ugh! Well that’s not a pleasant thought!

Despite all of my attempts to find love–which is darn near everything up to internet dating (I tend to be rather honest when able to use my hands to speak, versus my mouth, which can be rather frightening; let’s be honest)–I have been as single as I was the day I walked out on my fiance. Which in less than six months, will be a full decade. 10 years of being single. And, like I said, I have been trying. Yes, I have shied away from internet dating, but I go out. Not only to bars and house parties, either. Since getting my current job in 2013, I have expanded my haunts exponentially! Now I go to hockey games, and Comic-Con Conventions, and “Frozen Dead Guy Days.” Striking up random conversations and putting myself “out there,” still to no avail.

Now there have been a few in my lifetime that I have “turned down.” Why? Well, turns out I’m shallow too. Some I refused because they were overweight. Pot and the kettle there. Some because of age. Even though I have passed that dreaded 3-0, 40 still sounds so dang old to me. Some because of their name. I refuse to date an Anthony or a Tony–for those of you who do not know, that is the name of my father and my brother is the second. So what about the ones that I have pursued? One was an admitted alcoholic with some pretty terrifying demons–of whom really came out in his artwork–who was skinny and weird. Skinny and creepy are jokingly seriously my type. Another was a fairly big boy, whom I thought I “had a chance with.” Nope. A toothless tweaker, whom I had known for many many years, was lucky enough–but he lost me when he said he would help me with my sorrow after my mom’s death, but as soon as I tried talking about “I need love to save me, ” that fool had the audacity to think I was talking about him! Hello! We’re supposed to be friends! And even I know that you are not good enough for me!! There was even a face tattoo in there somewhere, and I was still pretty upset that he never called me back. I went after a skinny, creepy, virgin; and it went nowhere. And the one that hurt me the most–I will still make excuses for that boy! I even said, “Well I can forgive him as long as I don’t think about it logically. Because if I do that, then I am still burning, hating, mad!” Point being, I don’t believe I’m so shallow that I feel as if I need to make amends for it…

Still though, I am single. I am surrounded by beautiful men (now), none of whom want me. What’s wrong with me? You love the way that I treat you as a friend, imagine the way that I would treat you as a lover! There again lies a problem….I want to convince these people that I am what they want, what they need. I am not really looking anywhere else as long as I am waiting for them “to wake up and smell the hottie!” (Surprise, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 2), now am I? I do not want to accept their reasoning, especially if their biggest excuse is that they’re “not good enough for me.” But what if they told me that it was because I was fat? Could I handle that?

I asked one guy one time, why he never went for me. After stuttering for a minute, I offered, “Is it because I’m fat?” “….well…yeah….” I was 25, he was a friend’s brother, and someone my own brother and “brothers” would never approve of, but it sucker-punched me! That was about five minutes before I slipped into my first blackout drunk phase.

But would they lie to me? All of them? Tell me that I am perfect and “so obviously above them,” when really, they just think I’m fat? That sounds a little far-fetched to even me, hahaha! Especially when I have expressed to more than one that I fear that love will be the only thing to save me? I will get into what I dub “The Abyss” on a different Philosophy Sunday, but a major point to that whole thing, is that I consistently live in a world where I want nothing more than to be with my mom. And I fear that the only thing that will stop that desire would be for me to have a tie here on earth–a reason, as it were, to want to live. **Please note that this does not make me suicidal, per say…I don’t hate life, there is just an overwhelming desire to be with my mother, who is dead. I have an ex-friend who never understood that concept–every time I would try to broach that subject, she would always throw all of these “amazing reasons for living” at me, which inevitably annoyed me to no end, basically because all of those things are well and good, but none so good as basking in my mother’s love. I’m not going to take the necessary steps to join my mother where she is, because death isn’t in my cards right now–especially by my own hand–but I do wish that there was something here that could compare, because it is really hard to lose something so amazingly good. My mother made life worth living. Living hard and fast, and enjoying it with all five senses. Without her, it is like the sun has gone away.**

Anyway, at least a few of my crushes know about how I feel need love, and still they don’t want me. Could it really be because I am fat?

No. I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe that that could possibly the sole reason as to why none of my best friends want me, and everyone else in the world. I watch TV; I know that big girls find love every day! And I truly believe that I am a pretty darn good person. All of my estrogen-laden friends assure me this is so, won’t even hear of me getting down on myself! I also don’t believe that it is my depression, my bitch resting face, or my aversion to online dating is to blame for my lack of a love life. It could be my strange ability to get hooked on one person and put out the unobtainable vibe, until I am completely sure I cannot talk that person into me. Maybe. It could be my subconscious fear that any love of mine will undoubtedly meet an unfortunate end, just because I am “doomed to watch those I love around me die, while I get no such solace myself.” Yeah, that fear runs pretty deep. I often accuse death of being one of my best friends–he’s been around my whole life, always hanging out right there on the fringes. But he won’t come for me, because he’s my best friend! Of course he doesn’t want me! Hahaha, dark, so dark. Welcome to my brain!!

So what is it? I am going to chalk it up to fate. Love, like dying young, is just not in my cards. I am not even allowed those crappy random relationships full of drama and spite. I got my one. I fought for it. I changed for it. I regretted it for a long time.

I am a good person. I am beautiful, with my over-exaggerated hourglass figure, my never-been-perky-breasts, my foul mouth, funky teeth, and my scarred hands; I am a knockout. Although I accuse my hope of being a tall and skinny bitch who thinks she deserves a whole lot more than she actually does–I still want to keep my high standards. As my brother told me, “We are hott! And my sister will NOT date under a 6!!!” I willingly sacrifice for my family and friends, with not near enough appreciation to compensate for it. I cook my dad dinner every night, even if I will not be home to eat it. I do my brother’s, and his friend’s, laundry and clean up after them. I spoil my critters. I changed my grandmother’s diapers and bathed, changed, and fed her. I took my mother to almost every single appointment, and when she tried to apologize to me for having to cart her “big ass around,” I assured her it was good exercise for my own big ass. I am a good person. There are several people out there who would miss the tar out of me, if I were to die. I am special and I mean the world to them. There may even be some for whom I am as important to them as my mother was to me. I am loved. It is not vain to acknowledge these things, in my opinion. I need to be aware that I am special and beautiful and loved. I need to believe that it is not my weight that has kept love at bay all these years. I am not surrounded by shallow people, and I myself am not ridiculously shallow. I reject people for a reason, and it actually makes me feel better to know that I haven’t allowed my lack of love to make me so desperate that I will accept anyone!

There are so many things in my life that I have to feel as if there is a reason behind it! I need to believe in fate, in destiny. I need to know that all that pain my mother felt, happened for a reason. It was meant to be. Just like my perpetual singularity. I do put myself out there (as far as I am willing to go), and I do get out of my comfort zone and engage with people outside of my realm; therefore there is a reason as to why I am not producing results. It’s not because I am a fatty living in the new mecca for vegetarianism and healthy living. It’s not because I am a smoker, or have tattoos, or pink and purple hair. It is not because I have the awesome ability to find the prettiest people to pal around with (Desiree!!! Hahaha!). I know who I am and what I actually have to offer. Which is pretty substantial.

I will, however, say that I am a special breed. I am a unique little bird, and it would take a pretty special person to meander down the less beaten path with me. Not of the norm is hardly cutting it, hahaha!

I have a current crush that has actually been wreaking a little bit of havoc in my world. So much so, that while scoping his sexy self on FB, I decided to conduct a Tarot reading, problem-solution-resolution, about that poor bastard that is my current item of affection. Problem? I am obsessed with love. Seriously, that is the card I got. What needs to be done? An external force is going to crumble my world, and the resolution will be that I may rethink my entire outlook. Well, all of that could happen in several different ways….what will be the external force? Will I still be in love with love? Or just in love? Will I stop looking for love? Will I realize that it is because I am fat, and finally care about that enough to do extreme dieting? Fat chance there. I love food, and I cook it well. I guess I will have to wait and see. Maybe I will just stop crushing on this fool–he’s not really a fool, hahaha. But if I were to list all of the things that I don’t want in a prospective mate, then he’d definitely possess some of those qualities. Where I got lost in this one, is he opened my eyes to things I didn’t even know I wanted in a mate–like finding deep meanings and hidden social commentary in Dean Koontz novels. Who’d have thunk it? It wasn’t your seriously handsome face, good body, or your ability to listen without judgement, that pushed me over the edge, it was all of those dog-eared pages in Twilight Eyes, that moved me to tears. WTF?? Have I really told him any of this? No. It doesn’t turn out well when I express my love to people….

Most likely, he is not my one. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

Maybe it really is not in my cards to fall in love. Maybe I am not meant to be a mother. I mean, I have practiced way too much unprotected sex, without even a hint of a scare (except for the time when I was watching too many episodes of I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant!), so there’s that. And I know I will not go for artificial insemination. I would adopt, if it wasn’t so expensive, and if I could even qualify….so you want to adopt a kid…with your dad?? Weird, hahaha! But that is another thing–my dad is a widow who lost his wife and his mother in his house. I cannot imagine him jumping onto the dating wagon anytime soon, and I refuse to allow him to be alone. So even if I found love, my father is part of the picture. So maybe it just isn’t for me. None of my cousin’s on my dad’s side that live in this state, have children either. Neither, surprisingly, does my brother. Maybe it’s just not for us. Plus, truth be told, children fall into my whole theory about death taking everyone around me. The only thing worse, that I can think of, than losing my mother, would be to lose my child. I get heartbroken over breaking up with friend’s who have children, because I miss the kids!! So it is probably better that I don’t have them.

So, what’s wrong with me? Absolutely nothing. I will keep putting myself out there and keep doing what I am doing, but I will trust the universe to give me exactly what I need…..

Like this:

Hello again. Today will be my first cliche day, and I have decided to talk about love, fate, destiny, and this beautiful little gem that the American author, Richard Bach, gave to us: “If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours; if they don’t they never were.” We all know the quote; in fact all one needs to say is, “If you love someone…” and whomever is around will join in the, “…set them free.” We do not even need the rest, because it is already engrained into our noggins. (Hopefully everyone reading this now has heard of the quote, hahaha! If not, where have you been?)

Richard Bach is still alive, meaning that this quote is not that old. Older than me, I think, but seriously not old at all. Yet I hear this quote all of the time–in movies, in books, in popular music–this quote worms its way into your subconscious without you even knowing it. So much so, that it has become cliche. But what does it mean? Why would you let them go? How long are you supposed to wait for them to return? What if they get married? Have children? With the divorce rates as they are today, does marrying someone else even matter? When is it too much and you have to let go just to keep your sanity?

I have run into this problem more than once. I am a Leo, and Leos are notoriously in love with love, so we fall easily and we fall hard. I have heard the words, “I love you. You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. You’re amazing…” but, unfortunately, I am rather unsure if I have ever really had the emotion be real, really be reciprocated. Even with my ex-fiance…I’m not sure if it was real. Could be the reason why I was engaged for five years!! Should I hold onto those? Was it silly to hold onto them in the first place? If they promised ten years ago that they would marry me, is that too long to wait? What if those words are spoken by a teenager, does it really not count then? In fact, should we hold anything against a 13-17 year old, hahaha?! I have been single for almost a decade, and it still bothers me that I have heard the words mentioned above, over and over again, but they never seem to stick. Yet I find myself still believing that I loved them, let them go, and I am just waiting upon their return. Which written out as it is here, I feel a wee bit idiotic, hahaha!

What about this quote: “I don’t understand why destiny allowed some people to meet…when there’s no way for them to be together.” I got that from SumNanQuotes on Tumbler. In response, maybe this one, from a source unknown: “We don’t meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason.” Is there a lesson to be learned here?

For one particular person, to which all of these quotes are applicable, there is most definitely a lesson. My beautiful little brain can paint the most fantastic pictures of what the future would have looked like with that person. And I found so many little indicators that proved that he was my destiny, that fate was on my side, and we would be together forever. But fate wasn’t on my side; he wasn’t meant to be mine. For awhile, I forced myself to hate that person. I hated him for saying all of the right things and then taking them back; for never meaning them in the first place. Mostly, however, I hated myself for believing them. For painting such ludicrous pretty pictures of the two of us. I hated myself for the event that caused me to actually look at him and see him as a man, as a potential. And when he found someone “new,” I hated myself for hating her.

In the end, I realized that I had lied to myself…a lot. Yeah, maybe he told quite a few fibs himself, but I believed him. I have the exceptional ability to gloss over negative aspects of those I love–I just don’t see them–until that person makes me angry! Then I can point them out in minute detail! And really, once I did that, I am frankly glad that it wasn’t me. Not that he is a bad person, oh no! He still possesses all of those endearing and attractive qualities that I had originally seen in him, he just also possesses all those negative and unattractive qualities that, in fact, I really don’t want in a potential mate. He is not my one. In the end, it was more of this quote, from smschacha.com: “When people can walk away from you, let them walk. Your destiny is never tied to anybody who left…”

I am fairly certain that I have ascertained the reason, the destiny, the fate, the role that we played in each others’ lives. I wonder if he will see it as well some day. In the meantime, my lesson having been learned, I am willing to let him go completely. None of this waiting around for him to come back.

I will end this post with this quote, from Mandy Hale: “Once you make the decision to move on, don’t look back. Your destiny will never be found in the rearview mirror.”